Rosebud Boy
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Spoilers for Book 1. Agatha returns a stolen photograph. Simon and Baz piece together a mystery.Who was Lucy, and why did she disappear?


Rosebud Boy

By Laura Schiller

Based on: _Simon Snow_ series

Copyright: Rainbow Rowell

/

The letter from Agatha arrived shortly after Simon and Baz had moved in together. Since she didn't know the address of their flat, the letter had been redirected from Watford and sent via bird. The pigeon did not stay for the traditional handful of seeds as a reward, though, but darted away in fright as soon as it spotted Simon's dragon wings.

Baz, who had been about to crack a joke at that, fell silent when he saw the look on Simon's face after opening the letter.

"What is it?" he asked instead.

"Look." Simon held up a photograph with an unsteady hand.

It was a Polaroid from the 80's or 90's, its edges worn from handling, but the colors still bright. It showed a boy and a girl in seventh-year Watford uniforms, curled up together under the same yew tree that had been a meeting place for Watford couples since time immemorial.

_They look familiar, _was Baz's first instinctive thought. _But why?_

The girl was tall and strong, with messy blond curls and a sunny smile on her face. She had her arm tucked around the boy's shoulders. The boy, brown-haired and bespectacled, good-looking too but in a paler, less outdoorsy way, was frowning at the camera. It was the frown that made Baz recognize him. He had seen it often enough across the mahogany desk of the Watford headmaster's office.

"That's the Mage," said Baz. "But who's - "

"Here."

Simon, who had been reading the letter that came with the picture while Baz had been studying it, crumpled the letter in his fist and tossed it across the kitchen table in Baz's direction. It flew past him and would have landed on the floor if Baz's vampire reflexes hadn't kicked in. The Mage had been dead for barely more than a month. Simon had killed him. Was it any wonder he was less coordinated than usual?

Baz sat down to read the letter in silence.

_Dear Simon,_

_I don't know how to say this. This must be the millionth version of this letter I've started. So much for all those Elocution lessons, eh? But even if this hurts you, you deserve to know. _

_This picture is of your parents. Yes, the Mage is your father, just as you suspected. His name was David Miller. Your mother's name was Lucy Salisbury. She came from an old magical family – your grandmother actually plays cards with my mum, can you imagine? – but no one heard from her since before since before you were born._

_I know this from Penny's mum, who was your mother's best friend. I was at Penny's place for Christmas when Professor Bunce started reminiscing. I don't know if she figured out that you were their son. I don't know if she even knew that Lucy was pregnant. But she told me the Mage was obsessed with the prophecies about the Chosen One, that he and Lucy were both really powerful, and that she disappeared around the time you were born. And if you look at the picture, it's not hard to see the resemblance. _

_Professor Bunce said that Lucy went to America to get away from the World of Mages and all the fighting. That's where I got the idea to do the same thing. You know I never wanted to be a hero like the rest of you. All I ever wanted was to be safe. _

_I'm sorry I stole that picture. You can give it back to Professor Bunce if you like, or you can keep it. After all, they're your parents._

_I can't imagine what it must be like, knowing the Mage is your father after everything he did. But please, whatever you do, don't bottle up your feelings and then explode the way you do. Talk to Penny. Talk to Baz, even. Talk to the Bunces. And remember, he may be your father, but you're Not. Like. Him. You're the kindest, bravest, most unselfish person I've ever met. _

_I miss you and my family and (believe it or not) Penny too, but I can't go back. Please try to understand. _

_Love,_

_Agatha_

When Baz looked up from the elegant, curly handwriting in purple ink, he saw that Simon's wings had unfurled. They filled the entire kitchenette, threatening to knock something over with every minute. He was gripping the edge of the table, his eyes blazing. If he still had his magic, it would have been rolling off him in waves.

"Snow?" Baz asked cautiously. "Did you, ah … did you read the whole thing?"

Simon nodded, his bronze curls falling forward. He really did look a lot like both people in that picture. Right now, the barely controlled fury in his eyes reminded Baz forcibly of the Mage on the night he'd raided the Pitch estate.

"It doesn't surprise me," said Simon, his flat voice a striking contrast to his face.

"What, that Wellbelove can be so meddlesome?" Baz drawled, trying to lighten the moment and failing miserably. "It certainly surprised me_._ You and Bunce must have rubbed off on her after all."

"Not that!" Simon snapped. "The Mage … my _father. _You know what he said to me, that night in the tower?" He had to be referring to their final battle. "He said: _You're broken, Simon. I can fix you. _I didn't think he'd worry so much about that unless he'd made me in the first place. I guess he did it the old-fashioned way."

_You are not broken_, Baz wanted to say, but the words stuck in his mouth, sharp and unwieldy as his fangs when he got thirsty. Hadn't he been the one to always tell Simon what a mess he was, ever since they were little? He'd also told Simon once that he loved that about him _("It means we match")_, but did Simon really understand?

"How d'you think they did it?" Simon jabbed a finger at the photo. Magicless or not, Baz still half-expected a flame to shoot out of that finger. "I mean, it's not natural, is it? The way I am – the way I _used _to be. What kind of dark rituals does it take to make a baby that sucks magic out of the atmosphere? Who does that to a pregnant woman? And what kind of pregnant woman lets him?"

Simon's flat voice cracked on the last few words, and he pounded his fist on the table. He was a strong young man, and the hairline crack that split the cheap wood would have been worrisome at any other time, but not now.

Baz thought of his own parents. The parallels between them were almost uncanny. He, too, had a father who was disappointed in him, and a mother who might have felt the same way if she was still around. What had Simon said to him once, when he'd been in despair about Natasha Grimm-Pitch and how she would feel about a vampire son? _She loved you. She called you her rosebud boy … _

That gave Baz an idea. In fact, he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. So much for the ear for language a magician ought to have.

"Your mother loved you, Simon. That much I know."

"She left me with _him!_" Simon snarled. "So he could throw me in foster care and not even tell me who I really was! She buggered off to America and – she just – without even - "

He lost his coherence, red-faced and stuttering, in that way a younger Baz had so relentlessly mocked. Today it made his heart ache. So much of the emotions Simon carried with him were simply too powerful for words, especially his pain. If only there was a way for Baz to carry some of it.

The least he could do was tell Simon the truth, or at least the truth as he knew it.

"Snow! Shut up for a minute, will you, and let me say something."

The schoolboy tone worked like a dash of cold water. Simon fell silent and watched Baz, tears beginning to leak out of his bright blue eyes.

"Listen," Baz reached out to cover both of Simon's tightly clenched fists with his own hands, lightly enough that Simon could break away, but firmly enough that he would (hopefully) feel supported. "Do you remember when the Veil lifted? How my mother's spirit came for me and found you instead?"

"What's that got to do with - "

"Just listen! You told me her voice was different at the end of the Visit. That it got higher. And she said 'I never would've left you, my rosebud boy'. I don't think that was my mother anymore. I think that was yours. There were _two_ spirits in our room that night, don't you see?"

Hope and suspicion fought each other in Simon's eyes as he listened. "But why … I mean, what gives you that idea?"

"'Rosebud boy'?" Baz repeated, raising a sardonic eyebrow. He couldn't resist. "Pitches don't talk like that. We're not sentimental. I may not remember Mother very well, but Aunt Fiona told me enough about her. She was the sort of woman who'd roast a coven of vampires to a crisp to avenge her family, but not the sort who used flowery pet names."

Simon looked indignant at the words _sentimental_ and _flowery_, just as Baz had intended. If he could feel protective enough of Lucy Salisbury's memory to be annoyed when Baz made fun of her, even indirectly, it had to mean he felt some sympathy for her. Having spent eight years stabbing at Simon's weak spots at least had an advantage; now Baz could use that experience to try to heal those spots instead.

"You mean … " Simon asked, after a long pause. "If you think she was a ghost, that means you think she's dead?"

He didn't seem to know which idea troubled him more, his mother dying or his mother abandoning him. Baz had no idea of how to handle this tactfully, so he simply nodded.

"But we don't know when it happened." Simon gripped Baz's hands for reassurance. To an outsider, they must have looked like mediums conducting a séance. In a manner of speaking, they were.

"We don't know if she ever went to America," Baz argued. "It could've been a cover-up. The Mage - " Baz hated to give that man the credit of being Simon's father. " – wouldn't have wanted people to know that he'd been running weird experiments on his partner and their baby. Bad PR for a politician, you know."

There was a time when Simon would have punched him for criticizing the Mage, but they had both seen far too much of the headmaster's true colors since then. Simon squeezed Baz's hands so tightly, it was probably due to his vampirism that he didn't break any bones.

"So … I'm supposed to believe she cared … " Simon's entire face worked with the effort of trying not to cry, but the tears squeezed out anyway. "Because of a flowery pet name? That doesn't mean anything, Baz."

"Crowley, Snow, she passed through the _Veil_ for you!" Baz burst out, yanking one of his hands away – but only so he could wipe away Simon's tears with his thumb. "She came back from the dead just to talk to you. And think about it – she couldn't even manifest completely, could she? I mean, you didn't see her, and you could barely tell her voice apart from my own mother's."

Simon nodded, leaning his cheek into Baz's hand. It was still an awe-inspiring privilege to touch him outside of a fight, but he mustn't get distracted now or he would lose the thread of the conversation.

"If you ever paid attention in Magickal Theory, you'd know that magic never disappears. It always has to go somewhere. Professor Bunce," Baz picked up the crumpled letter and waved it as evidence, "Told Wellbelove that your mother used to be powerful, so if her spirit had almost no power, it must've gone somewhere. The most logical explanation is that her power went to you. She didn't suck it out of the atmosphere or steal it from other magicians. She gave it away. Like you gave yours."

Simon looked down at his hands, then at the pocket of his jeans, where he used to carry the Mage's wand and conjure his sword when needed. He flexed his wings and whipped his tail from side to side. Odd, how those mannerisms had become second nature to him in the past few weeks. Perhaps because magic still lived in him somewhere, even if he couldn't reach it at the moment.

Giving it all away to satisfy the Humdrum was the most unselfish act Baz had ever witnessed, even if the Humdrum was, in a way, Simon himself. The only way to do that would be with love.

If he missed his lost power, Simon didn't show it. Instead, for the first time since that letter had arrived, he showed Baz a small, crooked smile.

"You sound like Penny when you start making up theories," he teased. "Swots, both of you."

"Don't tell Bunce I said so, but I take that as a compliment."

"What would I do without you?" Judging by the softness in Simon's still tear-stained eyes, he wasn't talking about Penny anymore.

"The sentiment's entirely mutual, I assure you. Come here, love." Baz tugged on Simon's hand and pulled him into his lap, wings and all.

Sharing a hug with Simon Snow hadn't been the first of Baz's fantasies as a teen, but it was higher on the list than he'd admit to anyone. Being brave enough, trusting enough, _trusted_ enough to hold him like this – cheek to cheek, soft curls brushing his nose, arms and wings wrapped around him with a degree of heat only his chilled vampire body could appreciate – was a miracle he still could hardly believe in.

"Hey," Simon whispered into Baz's ear. "What happened to 'Pitches aren't sentimental'?"

"I'm the black sheep of my family, haven't you heard?"

Baz went on to demonstrate to his boyfriend just how unconventional he was, so that by the end of the evening, they were too happily exhausted to think about anything, let alone their past.

He knew, however, that this wasn't the end of the matter. Simon was going to carry the burden of his parentage for the rest of his life. It would come back to haunt him at unexpected times and places, just like it did for Baz, and all the love in the world wouldn't be enough to completely erase it.

Still, it would help. And for what it was worth, Baz intended to love this beautiful disaster of a man as long and as deeply as he could.


End file.
